34. Around the same time as that sideswiping incident, I rode my bike to Eastland Mall

Which is on the other side of the border of what was then mostly White suburbia.

Well, after my time at the mall, on my way back home, I had the misfortune of giving two White suburban cops the opportunity of showing me why crossing the border was such a tricky exercise indeed. That border being the infamous Eight Mile Road.

I was at a stop sign, waiting for traffic to pass before going through an intersection, when they came up behind me and told me to get up off my bike, which I paid for with my own hard earned money, so they could inspect it and frisk me while accusing me of stealing my own damn bicycle.

One of the cops actually snatched it out of my hands so that he could call in the serial number, which of course, didn't come back as a stolen bike.

I have no doubt that had I protested him snatching my own bike out of my hands, both of them would have beaten the living shit out of me right then and there.

Well, after those to found out that they had absolutely no reason to arrest me or further detain me, they let me go back on my way to the City.

From then on there, whenever I went to Eastland, I'd drive the car instead.

Funny thing is, I always felt safer in mean ol' Detroit, than I ever felt in the 'burbs. Never afraid of the Detroit cops who never bothered me and never ever accused of stealing my own gawd-damned bicycle.